


the light of all lights

by decinq



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Drug Use, M/M, Overdosing, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:46:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5630359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decinq/pseuds/decinq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack says, “Would you rather be able to fly or have super speed.”</p><p>The corners of Kent’s mouth tug into a small smile, and he says, “Compared to you, I do have super speed.”</p><p>Jack elbows him, hard. Jack asks, “What about being able to see the future?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the light of all lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Verbyna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verbyna/gifts).



> for lee, who has been waiting since 2014.

They’re sitting on the bus back from Oshawa and Jack turns to Kent and says, “If you could know when you were gonna die, would you want to?”

 

“Yes.” Kent replies without looking up from his book.

 

“What if you were going to die tomorrow?”

 

Kent turns the book over and places it in his lap. “I’d want to know,” he says.

 

Jack asks, “If you _were_ going to die tomorrow, what would you do different?”

 

Kent presses his ankle into Jack’s and says, “Probably nothing.”

 

Jack flushes, and Kent smiles softly before picking up his book again. Reading on the bus makes Jack car-sick. Jack says, “If you could live forever, would you want to?”

 

Kent doesn’t look up from his book when he says, “No.”

 

Jack says, “I think I would.”

 

Kent turns a page, and he says, “No you wouldn’t, Zimms.”

 

Jack says, “Would you rather be able to fly or have super speed.”

 

The corners of Kent’s mouth tug into a small smile,  and he says, “Compared to you, I do have super speed.”

 

Jack elbows him, hard. Jack asks, “What about being able to see the future?”

 

* * *

 

 

Kent has always been pale. He’s pasty and blonde and says shit like, “I’m never gonna hit the growth spurt that you think is still comin’,” and Jack always laughs. Kent’s eyes are an icy-grey that touch on blue whenever they’re in the sun. Jack’s bored all the time, his knees bounce and his fingers tap and Kent is always so still. He says shit like, “Simmer down, Zimmer,” and Jack always rolls his eyes. Kent’s smile is small, all gums. His sense of humour is horrible, but Jack can’t help being fond of him. He settles something in Jack the same way his hand on Jack’s knee settles the bouncing.

 

* * *

 

 

They finish the season off alright. They’re going to go first and second in the draft, probably, depending on what the media kicks up about Stamkos. But the world loves them, loves the false rivalry they’ve plugged into their relationship. The media eats it up, spits it back out, twists it around and around.

 

Jack spends a week drinking too much vodka with some guys he used to go to school with, and his hands are always clammy. Some asshole at the Gazette publishes an article wondering if Jack’s dad is going to be disappointed if Parson knocks his son out of the race. Jack’s hands are steady until he puts the article down. It’s with shaking hands that he picks up the phone and dials. “Hey Kenny,” he says. “Wanna come stay in Montreal for a bit?”

 

And Kent says yes, of course he does. He always does.

 

Jack shows Kent the collection of newspaper articles he’s stashed in his room, and Kent says, “We should light them on fire.”

 

Jack smiles, and he says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

 

Kent is skittish around fire, so Jack is the one who touches the match to the paper. He drops it into the fire pit in his parents’ back yard, and Kent smiles at him. Jack says, “You wanna try?”

 

Kent shakes his head. “I’d rather watch you.”

 

Jack shrugs. He’s not afraid of fire. He’s afraid of spiders and swimming in unclear water and of the world figuring out he’s a fraud. That he’s not good enough. That he somehow tricked them into letting him get as far as he’s gotten. He’s afraid that everyone will realize that he doesn’t deserve any of the things he has. That he doesn’t deserve to go first.

 

Kent’s afraid of lit matches and doesn’t like going over to other people’s houses.

 

* * *

 

 

They spend a month doing nothing. They escape from the world.

 

Jack rubs sunscreen into Kent’s pale shoulders, and when he’s done, Kent rolls him over onto his back and kisses his cheeks, his chin. Jack laughs and laughs and says, “I’m happy you’re here,” and Kent smiles down at him. He blinks grey-blue down at Jack, and Jack smiles back, lopsided and rosey cheeked, and Kent says, “I’m happy, too.”

 

Later, after Jack’s tan has turned darker and more freckles have found their way across his nose, he kisses Kent as they stumble into his room. Kent runs his hand over Jack’s arms and says, “The tan looks good, but you’ll get skin cancer if you don’t wear sunscreen.”

 

Jack hums Annie Lennox into Kent’s mouth, and Kent mumbles, “You’re not cool or funny just for knowing the words to _A Whiter Shade of Pale,_ you know.”

 

Kent pushes Jack back onto his bed, and Jack smiles up at him. Jack says, “You like me,” and Kent drops to his knees.

 

Kent says, “Yeah,” he says. “Don’t know why, though.” He runs his hand up Jack’s thighs, up and under his long since dry swim trunks. He drags his nails down the sensitive skin of Jack’s inner thigh.

 

Jack’s breathing feels heavy, and he reaches for Kent’s left hand, moves it to where he’s hard in his shorts. He says, “Kenny,” and it comes out rougher than it should.

 

Kent presses the heel of his hand into Jack, and Jack’s eyes fall shut. Kent says, “Jack,” and Jack blinks down at him.

 

Kent says, “Lift your hips,” and Jack nods. Kent pulls Jack’s swim trunks down his thighs, and then off. He touches Jack’s knee softly, circles his kneecap with one finger. He kisses Jack’s thigh, and Jack’s hands fist the sheets beside him.

 

Kent is meticulous. He’s so good on the ice because he’s detail oriented--he’s smart, and it shows in everything he does. He pays attention to everything. He pays attention to the way Jack’s breath catches when he first touches his mouth to Jack’s cock, he pays attention to the way the muscles in Jack’s stomach flutter when he presses his hand to Jack’s pelvis. He swallows Jack down, and Jack can’t concentrate on anything, after that. Kent is good at this, confident and careful and just what Jack wants.

 

He pulls off of Jack and breathes into the skin of Jack’s thigh. Jack moves his hand into Kent’s hair, runs his fingernails over his scalp softly. Kent’s hair is soft. Kent wraps his fingers around Jack and moves his hand slowly. He flicks his finger over the head of Jack’s cock, and Jack says, coarse and desperate, “You’re killing me.”

 

Kent nips at Jack’s thigh gently before kissing the soft skin, and he says, “I’m not.” He moves again, though, swallows Jack down until his lips meet his fingers, and Jack’s hand tightens in Kent’s hair. Jack tugs at Kent’s hair, but he doesn’t move, and Jack comes with a shutter. Kent says, “I would never,” and Jack doesn’t know what that means, but he’s pulling Kent up by his arms.

 

Jack lays back and pulls Kent down over him and kisses him, hard. He gets his hand into Kent’s pants and says, “Okay,” against his mouth. “Okay, okay,” he repeats, and Kent keens, presses down into Jack’s hand. He kisses Jack, and Jack say, “Okay,” and Kent comes over Jack’s hand.

 

* * *

 

 

They go to Jack’s grandmother’s house. On the drive over, Kent sits in the back seat with Jack, square shouldered and quiet. When they pull into the driveway, Jack’s parents both get out of the car. Jack, still undoing his seatbelt, says, “You have nothing to be nervous about.”

 

Kent says, “My French is shit.”

 

Jack says, “Your French isn’t shit. Your French is fine. Plus, we can translate.”

 

Kent looks skeptical, but he gets out of the car anyone. As they follow Jack’s parents to the drive way, Jack squeezes Kent’s bicep and says, “My mom didn’t speak french when they first met, either.”

 

Kent shakes Jack’s hand off, and steps up to the door. He stands beside Jack’s mom, and Jack tries to get closer to him, wants to make it easier, somehow, but then the door swings open.

 

Jack grandmother is like any grandmother, he thinks. She’s nice and he loves her but he doesn’t know how to talk to her about anything other than school work and what’s been happening on the news. She says, in heavily accented English, “This must be Kent. It’s so nice to meet you.” Kent smiles, and Jack’s grandmother says, “Come in, come in,” and Kent’s shoulders relax.

 

Kent says, “Merci beaucoup,” and steps inside after Jack’s parents.

 

* * *

 

 

On the drive home, Jack’s skin feels itchy. Kent rests his hand on Jack’s thigh while Jack’s parents talk quietly in the front seat.

 

When they get home, Kent says, “I’m gonna go for a run.”

 

Jack says, “It’s after 11.”

 

Kent says, “So? I want to, so I’m gonna go. Your mom said it was fine.”

 

Jack says, “I can come with you,” and he doesn’t pose it as a question, but Kent shakes his head anyway.

 

“I’ll just do thirty minutes. I wouldn’t want to mess with your routine.”

 

Jack shrugs, but says, “Alright.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Kent comes back, Jack hears him shower, hears him pad to the guest room that they’ve all been pretending that he sleeps in. After a few minutes, Jack’s bedroom door opens.

 

He crawls into Jack’s bed, and Jack rolls over. Jack says, “It looks like your eyes are glowing in the dark.”

 

Kent lowers himself over Jack and says, “You’re nutso, Jack.”

 

Jack stills his hands on Kent’s side, and he wants to pull away from Kent but doesn’t. Jack says, “Whatever,” with a huff, and Kent laughs softly into the skin of Jack’s neck. He licks a line from Jack’s jaw to behind his ear.

 

He says, “I like you the way you are.”

 

Jack doesn’t say anything, just pulls Kent down onto him with a hand to his back.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re in the back yard and Kent’s shoulder is digging into Jack’s ribs with how he’s resting his head on Jack’s stomach. He’s reading, and the shadow from where he’s holding his book above him is blocking the sun from Jack’s eyes. Jack is running his fingers down Kent’s side and contemplating jumping in the water when he says, “Your skin is freezing, you know? It’s so hot out, how can you--” and Kent shrugs.

 

“Run cold, I guess. Not like you being just this side of ripe is nice for me, either.” Jack pinches Kent’s side and Kent twitches. “You’re sweaty.”

 

“I’m hot,” Jack says, smirking.

 

He can’t see Kent’s face, but he’s sure Kent rolls his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Kent does an interview over the phone while Jack sits at the table eating breakfast. Kent is leaving to go back to New York in two days. The draft is in four days time. Jack takes another bite of his cereal as Kent says, “I’d do anything to play hockey. I’ve never loved anything like I love hockey.”

 

Jack stares down at his Raisin Bran.

 

Kent’s voice sounds tight when he says, “We won’t know who goes first until draft day. There’s no sense worrying about it.” He says it like it’s simple, like it doesn’t matter.

 

Kent had said, once, early in the season, “It’s not like we’re gonna get to go to the same place, so what does it matter? It’s gonna suck no matter what.”

 

Jack takes his bowl to the sink and dumps the rest of his cereal.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack’s hands are steady when he pops the cap off his bottle of Lorazepam. He drops a small pile of pills into his hand. He looks at his reflection in the mirror and swallows.

 

* * *

 

 

Everything feels like it’s on fire, and Jack can’t see for shit. It smells like vomit, he thinks. Kent is saying his name, over and over, and Jack wants to answer him but doesn’t know how. He tries to breathe but can’t. He tries to blink his vision to clarity, but everything stays blurry.

 

Kent says, “Jack,” and he sounds desperate. Sad.

 

Kent says, “I’m so sorry,” as he leans over Jack.

 

Jack feels a sting at his neck, or he thinks he does. He can’t feel much of anything. He still can’t breath. Kent presses the inside of his wrist to Jack’s mouth, presses his soft skin up into Jack’s teeth. Jack can’t breathe. Jack’s going to die. Jack can’t see anything. Kent says, “Jack. Bite.”

 

Something in Jack snaps, shuts off. His blurred vision turns to black, and then he bites Kent’s wrist, hard.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack blinks awake to beeping. He can hear the doctor saying, “His heart rate is still--it’s dangerously low. We need to keep him for a few days. After that, you may want to talk, as a family, about treatment options.”

 

Jack clamps his eyes shut.

 

He falls asleep easily.

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up to Kent shaking him awake. Kent says, “Jack, seriously, I don’t have all day.”

 

Jack blinks his eyes open and Kent says, “There you go, sleeping beauty. I brought you something.”

 

Kent holds up an Orange Julius cup. Jack says, raspy, “I don’t want a smoothie.”

 

“It’s not a smoothie, moron,” Kent says. He smiles, and it’s all teeth. Jack tilts his hand, but takes the cup. He takes a sip, and it’s blood. He goes to spit it out, but Kent moves faster than Jack can see, faster than he can process. Kent’s hand covers Jack’s mouth, and Kent says, soft, “Swallow.”

 

Jack swallows, and his head spins. He says, “What? I--”

 

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Kent says. “I gotta leave in thirty minutes. We gotta be fast.”

 

“Be fast? With wh--”

 

“I never wanted to bite you. I didn’t--I never would have. But you--You were going to die. I’m sorry. I just--you can’t kill anyone. You can’t bite anyone. I’ll fly back from Ottawa as soon as I can. Just. I’m sorry, okay?”

 

Jack says, “What’s going on? What’re you--why would I kill anyone?”

 

Kent sighs and says, “Drink your blood so that the doctor will stop losing his shit over your heart rate and listen, okay?”

 

* * *

 

 

Kent goes to Ottawa and is picked first. Vegas. Jack doesn’t watch even though his parents are paying eleven dollars a day so he can have cable in his private room. His mom cries and cries and Jack looks through brochures with steady hands and says, “This one, it doesn’t look...it looks okay. It’s in Nova Scotia.”

 

His dad says, “Yeah.” He doesn’t turn away from the window that overlooks the hospital parking lot. He says, “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

Kent calls Jack. Jack thinks, if it’s possible, that his blood might boil. He answers and says, “What?”

 

Kent says, “Zimms,” and he sounds tired.

 

Jack runs his tongue over his teeth, pokes at his too-sharp canines. Jack says, “This is real, isn’t it?” Kent doesn’t respond, so Jack says, “I fucking hate you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Being in the hospital isn’t the worst place to be, Jack imagines. It’s easy, once they let him walk around, to slip behind swinging doors. It’s easy to steal a key card from the young nurse on the rough end of a twelve hour shift. It’s easy to take the elevator down to the fourth floor and find where they keep blood cooled for transfusions.

 

He makes sure to only take bags that are labelled for type O blood.

 

 

* * *

 

 

His mom drops a bag of clothes at his feet and says, “They’re letting you check out. Get dressed.”

 

Jack stands from his hospital bed and takes the bag. He jumps to tug his jeans up to his hips, and he turns to face the mirror to find he has no reflection. He doesn’t know what he thinks about that. Nothing, really.

 

He pulls his t-shirt over his head and opens the door. His mom asks, “Ready?” and Jack shrugs.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack meets Shitty because they live across the hall from each other. They walk to Faber together on the day of their first practice. After that, Jack guesses that they become friends.

 

Shitty knocks on Jack’s door one night, and Jack opens it. He looks at the laptop in Shitty’s hands, and Shitty says, “You gonna invite me in, or what?”

 

Jack tilts his head at Shitty but says, “Take your shoes off if you’re gonna sit on my bed.”

 

Shitty smiles, and slips past Jack and into Jack’s room. Jack relaxes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jack has a scar on his neck that people rarely notice. No one wants to see what’s right in front of them. Jack’s skin is pale even in the summer. He still has freckles that scatter his nose, but now he buys SPF 100 sunscreen and sticks to the shade. It won’t kill him. That part of the movies isn’t true. It just gets uncomfortable.

 

His feet are always cold, and he hates it.

 

* * *

 

 

Johnson says, “And this is the Haus.”

 

Shitty says, “Haus, sweet Haus,” and Jack laughs.

 

Johnson opens the door and holds it open. Shitty ducks under his arm. Jack stands on the steps and looks up at the peeling paint of the Haus’ exterior. When he looks back to the door, Johnson is looking at him with narrow eyes.

 

Jack opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything.

 

Johnson says, “You’re welcome to come inside, if you want.”

 

Jack nods. Johnson nods too.

 

* * *

 

 

Bittle says, “Jack, do you have any allergies?”

 

Shitty says, “You mean other than fun?”

 

Bittle rolls his eyes. Jack says, “Pineapple.”

 

Johnson says, “He gets a rash on the inside of his arm whenever we have Italian food.”

 

Shitty says, “What?”

 

Jack says, “Uh.”

 

Bittle laughs and says, “Garlic, maybe?” Jack looks away. “Or maybe it’s tomatos.”

 

Jack says, “Just pineapple as far as I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

Kent shows up in his flashy car. He sucks at beer pong, and it’s the only part of the whole night that gives Jack any kind of satisfaction.

 

Kent’s hands are up the front of Jack’s shirt and Jack pushes him away. Kent says, “What, you afraid I’ll tell ‘em something they don’t know?”

 

Jack steps back, like he’s been burned.

 

Kent says, “Jack,” and he sounds sorry.

 

Jack says, “There are some days when I wish you’d let me die.”

 

Kent tilts his head at Jack and says, “I hate that I had to do it.” He sighs, and steps away from Jack. He puts his hat back on his head and says, “But I’m never going to regret it. And I’m never going to wish I could take it back.”

 

Jack says, “I know.”

 

Kent says, “You get used to it. The way it feels to be alone.”

 

Jack looks at him and knows that Kent means exactly what he says. The hurt doesn’t go away. It just becomes normal. Jack says, “I’m never going to play for Vegas.”

 

Kent says, “I miss you.”

 

“Yeah,” Jack says. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jack knocks on Bittle’s door, soft, and opens it. Bittle blinks at Jack and Jack says, “Wanna go skating?”

 

Bittle nods.

 

They walk to Faber in silence. Bittle yawns wide. Jack’s skates are tied together at the laces and he’s got them hanging off his shoulder.

 

They skate circles into the ice and Bittle asks, “What is it about being here so early that you like?”

 

He does a spin and Jack smiles as he watches. The early ice times, when he was kid, were more about the fact that it was when the ice was available. It’s a good excuse and it does it’s job more often than not. When he first started running checking practice with Bittle, it worked well. It’s not a lie, necessarily, but it’s not really the truth, and Jack wants to tell him something true. He can’t tell him everything. Can’t share the biggest secret he’s got. People think he’s fucked up because he overdosed, and that’s not wrong, but it’s not all of it. More of his problems stem from the fact that everything Kent said is right:

 

He’ll have to retire when he’s thirty-five and disappear. Everyone he’s ever loved is going to die. They’re going to age and get sick and their muscles are going to give out, and they’re going to go somewhere Jack can’t follow. They have one shot. They can do this just the once. Play hockey and live their dream. And then when everyone who watched and cheered for them is finally dead, when no one remembers, maybe they can try again. Change their hair and find a fake name and pretend to be sixteen again. Work their way back up to it. _Imagine,_ Kent had said. _No one would have to go first or second forever. Maybe we can take turns. Play together and play against each other until the world explodes._

 

Jack smiles at Bittle and says, “I like it when the world seems like it’s still.”

 

Bittle tilts his head and nods. “I know what you mean. Seems like time is stopped. It’s nice. Quiet.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Jack slips out of bed in the middle of the night, the light under Bittle’s door is always on. It’s faint, and Jack learns to ignore it. Shitty falls asleep at his desk all the time.

 

Jack leaves the Haus quietly. It only takes twenty minutes to drive to the hospital. He slips behind doors casually. No one ever notices him. No one ever notices if a few bags of O-positive go missing.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack buys Bittle an oven, and Bittle cries. Jack’s chest feels tight. Later, when Bittle has had too much vodka, he says, “I’m scared of what’ll happen when you and Shitty leave.”

 

Jack says, “Two years isn’t all that long, in the scheme of things.”

 

Bittle slurs, “I guess not.”

 

Jack wants to reach out for him but doesn’t. Forever is a hell of a long time. Jack says, “I wish things were different.”

 

Bittle says, “Yeah. Me too.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jack signs with Providence, and Kent texts him a link to an article titled _Jack Zimmermann Just Signed to The Falcs and He Looks Better Than Ever._ Jack snorts, and when he goes back to his messages, it shows that Kent is typing. When the message comes through it says, _welcome to the public life of the ageless. u, me and paul rudd._

 

Jack wants to ask him, _how long have you been alive?_ but he doesn’t, because technically, they aren’t. Alive. Instead, Jack says, _keanu reeves?_

 

Kent says, _maybe baby._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jack sees the spider skittering out from under his bed as he’s sealing his box of books closed with mover’s tape. He watches it crawl across the floor and into his now empty closet. He writes _books_ on the side of the box in sharpie and ignores the itch he feels. The room is empty, and it’s not his anymore. It’s just boxes and a bare mattress.

 

There’s nowhere for the spider to go. There’s nothing it can do to Jack.

 

He carries box after box down to his truck. He wipes his hand across his forehead as he comes back into the Haus, and Bittle says, “You want some lunch?”

 

Jack says, “Sure.”

 

Bittle says, “Sandwiches okay?”

 

Jack says, “I’ll wash my hands.”

 

Jack takes a bite, and groans. Bittle smiles, and Jack says, with his mouth full of food, “This is amazing.”

 

Bittle says, “It’s just a sandwich.”

 

Jack shakes his head. “It’s amazing and you’re killing me.”

 

Bittle rolls his eyes but his voice sounds serious when he says, “Never.”

 

Jack tilts his head, and Bittle holds eye contact with him. He takes a bite of his sandwich. Jack runs his tongue over his teeth.

 

Jack says, “Can I ask you a question?”

 

Bittle says, “That was a question.”

 

Jack rolls his eyes. “If you could know when you were gonna die, would you want to?”

 

Bittle says, “Yeah,” slowly.

 

Jack says, “Me too, I think.”

 

Bittle says, “Forever’s a hell of a long time.”

 

“Sure is,” Jack says. When Bittle smiles, it’s all teeth.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> the title for this fic is taken from bram stoker's _dracula_ : “there are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.” i only listened to troye sivan's BITE while writing this, so. that's that, i guess.
> 
> debi drew some fan art that you can see [here](http://bittyjack.tumblr.com/post/139325446597/look-at-this-v-day-art-that-debi-drew-me-inspd)


End file.
